


Where the Love Lights Gleam

by mychakk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Do NOT copy to another website, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychakk/pseuds/mychakk
Summary: “What do you need?”“You.”Molly has a secret. Sherlock makes a choice. Mycroft miscalculates.And the fallout will change their lives forever. Post-TRF. AU.Hopefully a new take on an old plot.





	1. Molly's Secret (and Sherlock's Choice - Part One)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geekmama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/gifts).



> This is my gift to geekmama who was my recipient at the Sherlolly Secret Santa 2018 event. I hope you like it. :)
> 
> I hope to post daily, but I'm going abroad for a week so we'll see. 
> 
> Also huge thank you to my wonderful beta, **3seconds** who has found time before Christmas to work on this piece. Thank you, dear! :) All remaining mistakes are on me!
> 
> Happy reading! :)

xxx

_“What do you need?”_

_“You.”_

xxx

“This has been a long term MI-5 operation.” Sherlock said abruptly, after quite a few draining hours, full of various important details and all the possible scenarios for his confrontation with Moriarty. Reasonably and logically he had gone over his deductions with Molly, pointing out why a particular scenario was the most probable one and what was expected of her. Molly followed his reasoning with rapt attention, ready to do anything in her power to help him. In the end her role, while completely tailored to her skills and connections, was simple …but crucial. “You'll need a special clearance to be involved in it,” Sherlock added solemnly, working at his microscope at the Lab.

Molly looked at him surprised, stopping her preparation for later. “What kind of clearance?”

“Secret Service,” was his succinct reply.

“What?” Molly’s eyes widened.

Sherlock glanced in her direction. “Like I said, it’s a long term operation and if you’re going to be involved-“

“I am!” Molly interrupted him resolutely.

“-you’ll need the clearance,” Sherlock continued. He frowned. “As you are not a government agent, nor a consultant, getting you a clearance on such a short notice could be problematic, and probably time-consuming.” He looked properly at her. “And time is something we don't have.” He paused, his eyes focused on hers just like they did mere hours before, when she was about to leave Bart’s. “The easiest and quickest way for you to get the dispensation is if we were married.”

Molly breathed in sharply, her eyes widening.

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded to himself. “I will have Mycroft prepare a marriage license then. It should be pre-dated a couple of months, not too much, but still-“

“I can't marry you.” Molly blurted.

Sherlock looked back at her surprised. “What?” He never would have expected to hear those words coming from Molly’s mouth and directed at him.

Molly looked away. “I-I just…“ She played with the cuff of her sleeve.

Sherlock frowned. “It's only so you can get the dispensation and a special clearance for being involved in MI-5 operation.” He persuaded. “It's only a formality. We can annul it or divorce once I return. Or… you will simply ...become a widow.”

Molly looked at him sharply. “Don't say that,” she said fiercely.

“It is a possibility.” Sherlock replied emotionlessly, with a side shrug, eyes straying to the side.

“No.” Molly’s voice was strong and even sharper. He looked back to her, surprised. “No.” She repeated as she shook her head. “You'll be back. I believe in you.” She finished looking into his eyes.

Sherlock stared back into her eyes for a second or two, then nodded. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “But we still need to be realistic.”

“No.” Molly was unmovable in her belief. “You will be back.” She said convincingly.

“Well, I need to go first,” he replied with a ghost of a smile on his face. “And it’s only possible with your help, so you need to get the MI-5 clearance. And for that we have to marry.”

Molly looked at him regretfully. “I can't marry you.”

Sherlock frowned. What was he missing? “Are you already married?”

“What? No!” Molly shook her head.

Sherlock’s brow deepened. “Then why-“

“Because I'm a mother.” She replied.

Sherlock gawked. “What?”

xxx

It was a one night stand.

A stupid, drunken one night stand almost four years ago.

Molly didn't remember much. She was feeling low because of her father’s recent death and because of the ending of her fellowship. She didn’t have many friends and with no family left, what was the point of living anymore?

And then there was that stupid bar, and that stupid party; and drinks after drinks after drinks. Then some of her fellow post-graduates disappeared somewhere, leaving her alone. She had a vague idea of a guy talking with her and it being nice for the first time in a long while. And then almost nothing. Vague images, ideas, some skin, a taste, even an echo of happy-ish laughter, and- and something- _something_ …

Well, from the next day on she did remember that she had lost her virginity finally. And despite the lack of clear memories there was no feeling of dread inside her about the whole event, no regrets, just an odd piece of rightness.

And a new resolve to live.

It got only stronger after she had found out she was pregnant, and bloomed into pure joy when nine month later, she welcomed the unexpected and unplanned tiny human into her arms.

It complicated her life, sure, but also enriched it a lot. And so she managed. She had enough money to go through the pregnancy and to support herself for the first weeks of the maternity leave. And when the time had come to start working again, thanks to her scientific publications during her studies and pregnancy, she even managed to get her dream job.

Life wasn't ideal but it was hers and she was proud of it.

And somehow, through it all, she had become even more private than before. She focused on her child and on her work but somehow without her conscious thought those two become separated.

It was not that she was ashamed about being a single mother, she really wasn’t. She just really didn't want any special treatment because of it. Either positive or negative. Or resentment or looks or whispers behind her back. She got her position in Bart’s based on her hard work and she was proud of herself. And she had a good relationship with her child; her precious little sunshine.

As time went by she got used to this status quo and when a certain Consulting Detective appeared in her life she became quite proud of herself for even keeping her secret from him through all their acquaintanceship.

But apparently that was about to change.

xxx

Sherlock was taken aback by Molly's statement. He stared at her trying to gather the missing clues but still could not spot anything. _How did I miss it?_

Molly tucked a hair strand behind her ear. “I-I don't flash it around,” she started after the silence became unbearable. “I try to keep a professional air around here, I have a good baby-sitting solution and Mike is understanding, a-and since I don't really have any friends to tell about it, I...” She shrugged helplessly.

“Are you involved with the child's father?” Sherlock asked abruptly with a frown on his face. Suddenly her answer seemed so _important_.

“No,” she said firmly, looking back at him.

He ignored the rush of feelings that simple word evoked inside him. “Then why can't we marry?” He persisted.

Molly huffed exasperated. “Because it affects my child's life!” She glared up at him.

Sherlock stared down at her and she stared back resolutely. Seconds passed.

“I don't mind becoming a guardian.” He said suddenly. And he _really_ didn’t mind it.

Molly’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“I really don’t. And since you have the child it would be logical for me to become their guardian if we married. Make it more realistic.” Sherlock narrowed his as thoughts raced through his mind. Then he locked his gaze with hers once more. “Actually marrying me will provide you and the child with even more protection, especially if I'm away.”

“You can’t be serious.” Molly replied weakly.

“I am.” He replied strongly.

Molly spluttered. “W-we’re- we’re not talking about  a toy nor even a- a- pet! This is a human being, a child! I can’t just-“

“Molly,” Sherlock interrupted her firmly. “I’ll do anything in my power to protect you and your child.” He said solemnly.

“I know!” She shot back. “It’s not the issue! I see what you are willing to do for your friends. But this is different.”

“How? I’m offering you protection.” Sherlock argued. “Like you did for me just mere hours ago.”

“It’s my child we’re talking about!” Molly insisted.

“And it’s my life!” Sherlock shot back.

There was a heavy pause.

“Yeah, you’re-”/“I’m sorry-“ They started at the same time.

There was another pause, this time an awkward one. Finally, Sherlock leaned toward Molly, taking her hand in his. “I really don't mind becoming a guardian. It will be my honour. You are risking so much-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Molly interrupted.

“It does, Molly, it does.” He insisted. He took a deep breath as he looked to the side then back into her eyes. “Even if it weren’t a necessity I’d still want to give you this kind of protection. And now it’s even more important. We can deal with it after I return. Right with the annulment or divorce. And if I don’t come back then-“

“Sherlock!” Molly glared at him fiercely.

“Right, well.” He nodded. “So?” He looked into his eyes, unaware of the vulnerability in his expression.

Molly flushed as she stared into his eyes, assessing. She had proved already she could see him, could see beyond his masks and projections. And she confirmed this talent once more, for what she had seen now must have been enough to convince her.

“His name is William.” She said finally. “After my father.”

Sherlock smiled slowly at her. “My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Did you know that?” He asked her, a little amused.

Molly startled. “No, I didn’t.” She shook her head.

Sherlock’s smile widened slightly. “I really don't mind looking after my namesake. Even if it’s only on paper.”

“No?” Once more she searched his eyes.

“No.” He nodded resolutely.

 _Beep_.

They startled, breaking their staring contest. Sherlock reached for his mobile phone that had just rung.

“Mycroft.” He said. “We're running out of time.”

“Right.” Molly nodded. “I'm going to find the body double and prepare everything.” She promised, more determined than ever. She turned away ready to move along but Sherlock stopped her.

“Molly.”

She looked back at him.

He looked into her eyes. “We… will probably not see each other before I... and after…” He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Just don't let him win and come back.” She said simply, but with glassy eyes.

“I will.” He nodded, his hand reached for her cheek but stopped millimetres from it. Before he could withdraw it, Molly caught it in her own, bringing it to her cheek. She closed her eyes for second then stared back at him.

“I believe in Sherlock Holmes.” She said firmly, looking deep into his eyes. “In everything he is, and everything he think he is.” She smiled brightly at him. “I believe in you.”

Impulsively, Sherlock stepped to her and kissed her quickly but firmly on the mouth. “Thank you, Molly Hooper. That's all I need. _You_.”

Then another _beep_ from his phone sounded and they separated swiftly to attend to their tasks.

And like Sherlock had predicted, they did not see each other again at all.

xxx

Two days later Mycroft visited Molly at Bart's with the required paperwork. It was pre-dated like Sherlock had said it would be, the marriage license was set about ten weeks previously, and the guardianship papers had the same date. The MI-5 clearance for her involvement in the mission had a later date but still long before the events of Sherlock's Fall. All the documents were signed by Sherlock already and by other important people. All that was needed was her signature.

Without a single word she signed it all.

Mycroft gathered them into the folder and just nodded at her.

Without any words exchanged he turned around and left.

It was the last time she'd see him for a long, long time.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make my day :) *hint hint*


	2. Mycroft's Miscalculation (and Sherlock’s choice – Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part two. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also, huge thank you to my wonderful beta, **3seconds**! :)

**Chapter Two - Mycroft's Miscalculation (and Sherlock’s choice – Part 2)**

**xxx**

“Sir, there is a situation.” Anthea barged into Mycroft’s office, visibly a little agitated as she neared his desk.

Mycroft looked up from his papers, frowning slightly. He was learning Serbian in order to help his wayward younger brother get out of a dire spot in the Eastern Europe. He did not need any distractions nor additional things to take care of.

“What kind of situation?” He asked tersely.

His faithful assistant straightened her shoulders. “A serious one. It involves Dr. Hooper.” She said meaningfully.

Mycroft's lips thinned. He hadn’t thought about the small doctor for a long, long while, allowing his assistant to take care of her and her son in the absence of his younger sibling. “Can you deal with it?” He asked.

“Yes, sir, but-“

“I trust you to do it then.” Mycroft interrupted firmly.

“But, sir-“

Mycroft looked at her pointedly.

She stared back, her icy blue eyes fierce.

“I have a deep undercover rescue mission to execute as you well know.” Mycroft said in a calm voice pointing to his notes on Serbian language.

Anthea was silent for a second or two. “Very well, sir.” She nodded. “Protocol?”

“Standard one.” Mycroft replied, his head lowering already to the Serbian texts he had been reading before. “I trust you will do as I would, my dear.”

Anthea huffed quietly and nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then she left.

Mycroft had a distinct feeling she was angry with him, but he ignored it. He turned back to his papers. His younger brother needed him. It had been too optimistic to hope he'd manage one mission without getting into trouble; and this time rescuing him would not only take at least a couple of weeks if not more, but also involve fieldwork. _Tedious_.

xxx

Sherlock was still sore from the heavy beating he had received in Serbia over the last few weeks. Mycroft may have come to rescue him, and probably saved his life in the process, but it was still only because he was needed back on English soil. His elder sibling had _definitely_ enjoyed the beating he’d got. Why else would he let it go on for so long? It was something Sherlock would not forget for a long while. But it was not the time to dwell on that.

The post-mission debriefing went _surprisingly_ smoothly. He was one of the best freelance agents the Service had, but still. He got a clean bill for his deep undercover work, a fit for duty clearance for his health despite the beating he had experienced recently, and a pass to return to his regular life. The strife Mycroft had found himself in must be quite severe.

He tried to listen as Mycroft droned on about this new threat to England while the barber cut his hair and shaved him, but Sherlock's mind wandered somewhere else. Over the last two years his thoughts hardly ever strayed away from home: London, Baker Street, ...St. Bart's; and the people he had left behind: John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade.

Molly.

Molly and William. Her son. The boy he had never seen with his own eyes. Not even a photograph.

And yet… yet his thoughts had kept coming to them far too often.

He thought of Molly’s quiet and efficient help around the lab. How she complemented him, how well they worked together. He often recalled her warm smile and shining eyes whenever he deduced something or solved a case. Her kind words, but also the determined chin whenever he did something not good. He could never forget her unmovable belief in him.

Molly. His wife. _Just on paper,_ a traitorous, reasonable voice whispered in his head. But nevertheless _his_.

And William. Her son.

He tried not to think about them most of the time. Especially not in _that_ context. His Molly and William… But whenever he hit a low point in life, whenever his work got a little too much, a little too unbearable, his thoughts strayed to her. He tried to reason with himself, tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make sense, that it’s just wishful, pointless thinking on his part, but he still did it over and over again: thought about them and _imagined._  Her big brown eyes, fierce as they stared into his, full of conviction and belief in him; and a small boy around her legs with the same warm eyes as hers and her easy, kind smile. And no matter what he tried, no matter how much he argued with himself, he never really managed to stop himself from putting the familiar black curls on top of Molly's boy’s head.

Sherlock really tried not to think of Molly and her son. But he did. Every day.

Molly was his wife and William was hers. And so both of them were _his_.

“Are you even listening to me?” Mycroft interrupted his musing, sounding annoyed.

Sherlock huffed. “Boring. You just need my help to do some legwork around the city.” He drawled.

“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock! Is that quite clear?” Mycroft said pointedly, sounding quite exasperated.

“Yes, yes, I will find your underground terror cell.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

“An agent died to get us this intel, Sherlock!” Mycroft shot back, now annoyed.

The barber finally finished and Sherlock, with a painful grunt, sat up. “I will take care of it, Mycroft.” He looked straight at his brother. “Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

Mycroft huffed.

“Now,” Sherlock said. “Tell me about them.”

“Them?” Mycroft asked nonplussed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade …Molly.”

Mycroft’s cheek twitched at the last name. Sherlock straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with Molly?” He asked in a low, dangerous voice.

It was then that Anthea entered with Sherlock’s coat. She paused seeing the tension between the Holmes brothers.

Mycroft looked down, avoiding their eyes. “There has been an accident,” he finally said.

Sherlock’s heart sank. “An accident? What kind of accident!”

“A car accident,” Anthea clarified, realising what they had been talking about. “Dr. Hooper’s in coma, being treated at the best hospital in the city.”

Sherlock paled. “And William?” Sherlock asked, heartbeat accelerating.

“He’s been treated like any orphaned child.” Mycroft replied calmly.

“He’s not an orphan!” Sherlock shot back angrily.

Mycroft scowled. “Well, his mother is incapacitated. _Who_ do you think should have taken him?” he asked exasperated.

“His _family_!” Sherlock barked, his voice dangerously low.

“He doesn’t have a family!” Mycroft replied impatiently.

“ _I_ am his family!” Sherlock growled, his nostrils flaring.

There was a pause.

Mycroft smiled patronisingly at his younger brother. “Sentiment, Sherlock? For a boy you have not even laid eyes on once?”

Sherlock shot up from his chair, ignoring the wave of pain around his torso. “Do _not_ presume you know anything. Now, where is my boy being kept at?” He demanded.

“My, my.” Mycroft sneered.

“Quit this crap, Mycroft!” Sherlock glared. “I asked you to do _one_ thing! I asked you to take care of them. And what did you do?!” He took a step back. “I’m getting William, and until he’s safe with me, your underground terror cell can hang itself.” He growled then turned around, grabbed his coat from Anthea’s hands and left Mycroft’s office, fuming.

xxx

“Well.” Mycroft said, as the door to his office closed with bang after his younger brother.

Anthea just shot him an unamused and angry glare then left right after his sibling.

“Why, I never.” Mycroft huffed but startled as Anthea marched right back with a folder in her hands.

“He’ll need those files and documents to take little William from the institution.” She said as she slammed the folder in front of him on his desk.

Mycroft looked at the paperwork then up to Anthea and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Anthea huffed. “He has already left the building, and I have texted him the address. But he’ll need someone to take these to him.” She gave Mycroft a meaningful glance.

Mycroft blew air through his nose. “Fine.” He said and got up reaching for his coat an umbrella.

He missed Anthea’s little self-satisfied smile.

xxx

Sherlock marched up the stairs to the building Anthea had directed him to in her text message. It was a fine institution, one of, if not, the best in the city. At least they had put his boy in a respectable and sufficient place, although Sherlock suspected Anthea’s involvement on this one rather than Mycroft's.

He felt hot anger shoot through his veins at the thought of his brother sending William to any kind of social institution. How long had he been here? How long had he been traumatised? Didn’t Mycroft know one doesn’t treat family this way? And so what if William was only his family on paper? Sherlock and Molly had married for the mission, so he, Sherlock, could survive and do the duty to the nation and to the Queen. Wouldn’t that warrant at least some form of consideration on Mycroft's part in regards to Molly and her son? To Sherlock’s wife and his- his-

He opened the front door with a bang and marched to the reception desk. The young girl jumped, startled by the sudden noise, then looked more and more frightened the nearer he got. He didn’t care.

“I am here to take my- my boy.” He started.

The girl squeaked.

Sherlock glowered. “God, your incompetence is physically hurting my grey matter. Call your supervisor or the Director of this institution.”

A well-dressed woman in her fifties, who had just been passing them, stopped. “That would be me, Headmistress Bulstrode. How can I help you?” She asked in a firm voice.

Sherlock looked her up and down, then nodded slightly. “I am here to take my boy home.” He said simply.

“And who would that be, sir?”

“William Hooper.” Sherlock shot back impatiently.

Ms. Bulstrode’s eyebrows frowned. “His mother is in a  coma, and from what I remember the father is not listed.” She motioned to the receptionist. “Call up the file.” Then she moved around the desk to peer into the computer. “Yes, no father listed. But there is a guardian. Hm, deceased.”

“Well, as you can see I’m _not_.” Sherlock shot back impatiently.

Ms. Bulstrode straightened as she looked him up and down, a slight, puzzling frown appeared on her brows, but before she could say anything the front door opened once more.

“Ah, good.” Sherlock said as he saw Mycroft coming in, holding a huge folder. “Finally you're up to do something right.” He snarked at his older brother, then turned to the Headmistress. “My brother will deal with the necessary paperwork,” he finished dismissively.

Ms. Bulstorde looked to the newcomer and her eyes widened. “Mr. Holmes,” she said, welcoming Mycroft.

“Headmistress.” Mycroft nodded, shaking her hand.

“I didn’t know this was your brother,” she said, her eyes flickering to Sherlock.

“Yes, my younger sibling. Right back from an undercover mission. Top secret, as I assume you understand.” Mycroft's reply was succinct and to the point.

“Yes, of course.” Ms. Bulstrode nodded immediately.

Sherlock huffed impatiently. “Yes, great, I want to see William.” he insisted.

Mycroft shot him a suffering look then turned to Ms. Bulstorde. “Here is the necessary documentation identifying Sherlock Holmes as William Hooper’s guardian. And any additional information you may need. Of course his return to London is still being kept quiet due to his service to the Crown. I hope I can count on your discretion and that of your staff.” He looked at the receptionist pointedly.

“Of course.” Ms. Bulstorde assured. “We deal with all kinds of sensitive situations all the time.”  

Mycroft nodded. “Thank you.”

“William?” Sherlock inquired impatiently one more time.

Ms. Bulstorde looked at him and smiled a tight smile. “Yes, of course.” She nodded then called to a young woman heading to the staircase. “Jenna, if you could take Mr. Holmes to-“ she looked onto the computer. “-classroom no. 4. He’s here for William Hooper.”

The young woman nodded. “This way, sir.” She said pointing down a corridor and Sherlock followed.

He felt a strange stirring in his stomach. Here he was to finally see Molly Hooper’s son. His- his boy. He had thought about this moment way too many times over the last two years. But never had _this_ scenario come to his mind. The boy’s mother was always with them, serving as a buffer of sorts. How would the meeting go? Would the child even recognise him? Would _he_ recognise the child? And what if the boy didn’t want to go with him? He’s-

They finally reached classroom no. 4 and the woman opened the door.

“William? William Hooper?” she called as they stepped inside. It was a classroom prepared for pre-schoolers with small colourful tables and matching chairs. There were picture books on shelves and toys splayed around the floor. Some children played on the carpeted open space to the side, others stayed in groups around the tables.

Then, at the last table, sitting by himself, there was a young boy, around five/six years old. He had a book in front of him and some crayons lying around. At hearing his name, he looked up.

And Sherlock’s worldview _shifted_.

Despite the slightly different colouring, probably inherited from the boy's mother, Sherlock Holmes was suddenly faced with the spitting image of his six year-old self.

But _how_?

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about the latest development ;) reviews make me smile :)


	3. The Fallout - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they mean a lot! And they make my day, each one of them! I'm glad you like the story so far :)
> 
> Here is the next chapter, hope you'll like it as well. :)
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, **3seconds** , all remaining mistakes are on me.

**Chapter Three – The Fallout - Part One**

xxx

William Hooper was starting to get used to his new reality. Ever since that day… that day his Mummy… Ever since everything changed, he was feverishly hoping for it to go back to how it used to be. For Mummy to get him from here and take him home, for Toby to be waiting  there for them. For the evenings in front of telly and weekends playing games. And the cuddles and kisses his Mummy gave. No one gave hugs and kisses like his Mummy. But as time passed, he started to realise it may never be the same again.

So now all that was left for him to do was to wait. For if not his Mummy, then  _ he _ would come. William knew it.

Ever since he could remember Mummy had been telling him about Mr. Sherlock. She always said that if something happened to her and she couldn’t take him, or care for him, Sherlock would come and will do it for Mummy. It’s not that Mummy didn’t want to do it anymore, William remembered his Mummy telling him, it was because she really couldn’t. And so, since Mummy didn’t come for him for such a long time, then she really couldn't and so Sherlock would come in her place for sure. And so William waited.

He knew what Sherlock looked like, even if he had never seen him before. Each night Mummy showed him Sherlock’s picture and sometimes movies on her phone, so William even knew how Sherlock sounded. Mummy often told him that Sherlock was her husband and William’s guardian, if anyone ever asked, and that it was ok for William to go with him.

William didn’t know what a guardian was but he did know what a husband was. A husband was a daddy. If Sherlock was Mummy’s husband, he must be William’s Daddy. William had never had a Daddy, and he was looking forward to having one.

Mummy always said that Sherlock would come to take care of him and since Mummy never lied Sherlock was going to come soon.

He heard one of the teachers call his name and he looked up.

His eyes widened as he saw the man standing next to Miss Jenna. He was so, so  _ tall _ , but his face was unmistakable. Without a second thought he abandoned his book and launched himself across the room with a shout.

“Sherlock!”

xxx

Sherlock’s thoughts were a jumble. How? Why? When? But before he could even analyse anything, the boy,  _ his _ boy, launched across the room yelling his name. His name!

Sherlock barely managed to crouch as the boy threw himself into his arms.

“I knew you’d come! I knew! Mummy said you would! She did! And she never lies!” The boy mumbled into Sherlock’s shoulder as he hugged him and some of Sherlock’s questions got answered by that innocent belief in him. Like mother, like son. Sherlock hugged William tighter. Molly, his clever, clever Molly had been preparing William to be taken care of by him just in case… just in case…

He smoothed the child’s hair, springy and curly like his own, and tried to peer into the boy’s face. “Yes, hello, William, it’s good to finally meet you.” Sherlock said and smiled, his eyes searching the features he knew from his own pictures and vague memories from his childhood.

He still had so many questions.

William smiled back at him. “Are you going to take me home?” He asked hopefully.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I am.” He looked serious. “You are not going to stay here a minute longer." He vowed.

William smiled and it was Molly's smile, brightening the whole room; ...just like Sherlock had been secretly imagining for the past two years. His heart somersaulted.

“Come.” He said as he stood up and without preamble William put his small hand into Sherlock’s bigger one. He was so small and Sherlock felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him.

They went down the corridor to the reception area where Mycroft and Ms. Bulstorde waited for them. The two adults halted their small talk and turned toward the approaching group.

At the sight of the boy Mycroft's eyes went wide as saucers. Sherlock seethed as he noticed this and shot his elder brother a glare. Only the small hand in his prevented him from making a scene right away.

“Hello, William.” Ms. Bulstorde greeted the boy with a kind smile. “Are you ready to go home?”

William beamed at her. “Yes! Mummy told me that if she can't come for me then Sherlock will and she couldn't come to get me for forever but Sherlock came like she said. My Mummy never lies.” He added with unmovable belief.

Ms. Bulstorde nodded with a smile of her own. “Yes. I'm glad Mr. Holmes came to get you. Do you have any things you want to take with you?” she asked.

William nodded eagerly.

“Good. Miss Jenna will take you to your room to gather them.”

William hesitated. He looked at Sherlock, his eyes huge.

Sherlock squatted in front of him to look him in the eye. “I'm not going anywhere without you. I'll be waiting here for you until you pack and come, I promise.”

William looked at him, his dark brown eyes assessing Sherlock in a familiar way. He nodded and let go of Sherlock’s hand to take the young teacher's one. Sherlock immediately felt the loss of it.

He stood up watching as his,  _ his _ ! (but  _ how _ ?!) boy disappeared behind the corner then turned slowly toward his brother.

“Well, that is an interesting turn of events.” Mycroft drawled.

Sherlock glowered.

“Have you even  _ once _ looked at his pictures in all the time I was away, or did Anthea take care of everything?!” He started quietly but was almost shouting by the end. “One look, Mycroft, one look! And you would have known!”

“Well, how was I to know you had a  _ real _ son instead of a  _ wishful _ one!” Mycroft shot back tersely.

Sherlock recoiled as if slapped.

“Well.” Mycroft sneered. “No matter the physical resemblance we'll still need to perform a paternity test.”

Sherlock ignored him as his mind whirled. How was it possible? He has never slept around. Not even when he was in the midst of his drug use. Not once. Except… except...

He turned quickly to the receptionist and barked. “When is William's birthday? Sometime in July?”

The girl squeaked once more but checked the file after a quick questioning glance to her supervisor. “July 16th.” She replied.

“Really?” Mycroft drawled. “I always wondered what had you finally get your act together back then.”

Sherlock shot him a dark glare. He frowned as he mumbled to himself. “But she was a punk girl. Why would Molly…”

“Have you forgotten it was the day after Halloween when you called me to go to rehab?” Mycroft reminded him with raised eyebrows. “Halloween costume parties are so juvenile.” He sneered.

Sherlock looked back at him with wide eyes. He had never considered that it was someone in a costume  _ that _ night. No wonder he could never find her again. He always assumed it was because he was high as fuck that night and he got his description wrong, but if it had been Molly back then… well, it would explain William's existence, for one. It would also explain his- his inexplicable pull toward Molly, even before the events of The Fall.

His thoughts were interrupted by William's return. The boy skipped right to Sherlock's side and put his small hand into Sherlock’s bigger one.

Sherlock took a calming breath and looked down at the beaming face. “Ready?” he asked.

William nodded.

“Well then, ”Sherlock turned toward Ms. Bulstorde, “we'll be on our way.” He picked William's bag.

“Bye, Ms. Bulstorde!” William called, waving.

“Bye.” Ms. Bulstorde smiled at him.

“If there is something else needed, you know where to contact me.” Mycroft said to the Headmistress, then followed the pair as they headed toward the door.

“Are we going home?” William asked as they went down the stairs.

Sherlock shot Mycroft a look. “Is there even a home to return to?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “From what I understand the flat has been rented to cover William's stay at the facility.”

Sherlock glowered, took a deep breath and looked at William. “We're going home, but it's going to be mine.”

“Ok.” William nodded. “Will Toby be there?”

“Toby?” Sherlock looked at the boy puzzled.

“Our cat.” The boy explained. “I don't know who's been taking care of him. Mummy always give him food and water.”

“Oh, I see.” As they neared Mycroft's government issued car. “I don't know who takes care of Toby either but I'm sure Mycroft, my brother, will help us find him.” Sherlock smirked at his sibling sweetly.

Mycroft gave him a pained look.

“You will, Mr. Mycroft?” William turned to Mycroft with a hopeful look. “Mummy loved Toby and me too and I miss him. He is my best friend.”

Sherlock's heart squeezed at this declaration.  _ Redbeard _ ...

Mycroft looked at the small boy and his face softened slightly. “I'll see what I can do.” He said.

“Thank you!” William beamed at him.

They reached the car and Sherlock's eyebrow shot up at the sight the of child's seat in it. He looked to Mycroft but the elder Holmes just shrugged, avoiding his eyes. Sherlock struggled a little but in the end managed to help William into the seat, then sat down himself next to him.

“We'll need William's clothing and things since he's coming with me to Baker Street.” He said as Mycroft situated himself opposite them.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Mycroft asked sceptically.

Sherlock glowered. “He goes where I go and since I stay at Baker Street, he stays there with me.”

Mycroft just huffed.

“Can we go see Mummy?” William asked suddenly, looking from one man to the other.

Both men looked at the boy.

Sherlock hesitated it a second. “Yes, of course,” he replied.

Mycroft straightened in his seat. “Now, Sherlock, do you think it's a wise idea for such a small child to see-”

“Please, Mr. Mycroft,” William interrupted in a pleading voice. “I haven't seen Mummy forever! Can I see Mummy?” The boy was starting to get teary-eyed and his voice shook.

Mycroft shifted in his seat.

“We're going,” Sherlock said firmly. “Tell your driver to take us there now.”

Mycroft stared at Sherlock and Sherlock stared back with a hard glare. A moment passed between them then Mycroft sighed and spoke with the driver.

The drive was relatively short and mostly quiet. William looked out the window while Sherlock looked at William. Finally they arrived. As they entered the hospital, Mycroft consulted his phone to get the information from Anthea then led them all to the proper floor. William looked around the hospital with wide eyes as he walked next to Sherlock, his small hand once again in Sherlock's bigger one. Sherlock tried to adjust his long strides to William's smaller ones.

“Mummy works in hospital.” William said suddenly, looking up to Sherlock. “Is she working all the time?”

Sherlock halted. He squatted in front of William to look him in the eyes. “Your Mummy… your Mummy had an accident and she got hurt really badly. She is sleeping and cannot wake up.”

William frowned. “Couldn't you kiss her like Prince Charming did in the Sleeping Beauty? And the Princess woke up?”

Sherlock smiled a sad smile. “But I'm not a prince.”

“But you're Mummy's husband and the Prince and Princess were to be married and that means being a wife and a husband.” William pointed out. “ So you are Mummy's prince, right?”

Sherlock looked down.  _ If only it was that simple… _ He sighed then looked up. “It's more complicated, William.” He said and straightened exchanging his hand. “Come, let's see your Mummy.”

William took Sherlock's hand once more and together they entered the room. Mycroft stayed near the doorway. Right away William ran up to Molly's bedside. Sherlock's heart lurched at the sight of the motionless, tiny, fragile looking woman. He almost staggered.

“Mummy! Mummy wake up!” William called as he stretched on his toes to peer at his mother's face. “Please wake up!”

“William…” Sherlock said as he came to him, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“No!” William wailed, wrenching his shoulder from Sherlock's light grip. “Mummy has to wake up! Mummy!” his voice wobbled and tears started pouring out of his eyes.

“William!” Sherlock called trying to calm the boy.

“I'm sorry, Mummy!” William wailed. “I'm sorry! I didn't want to get you hurt! I'm sorry! Mummy!” He was outright crying and Sherlock picked him up. His heart clenched at the boy's anguish. In all the revelations so far he hadn't really bothered to ask what has exactly happened to Molly.

William wound his arms around Sherlock's neck and started sobbing.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Daddy.” Sherlock heard him mumble around his sobs and his heart skipped a beat. “I'm sorry I got Mummy hurt. I'm sorry!”

William's sobs became incomprehensible as he clung to Sherlock, who took them outside, ignoring Mycroft's pointed look.

Amongst all the commotion, a simple unexpected beep and a slight moving of a hand went completely unnoticed.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All reviews are greatly appreciated! :)


	4. The Fallout - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to my wonderful beta, **3seconds** :) thank you! 
> 
> Next chapter should be in a day or two. Now enjoy latest update, hope you'll like it :)

**Chapter Four – Fallout – Part Two**

xxx

William refused to let Sherlock go. He clung to him all the way down to Mycroft's car and eventually Sherlock just buckled himself with the boy sitting on his lap, William’s small arms wound around his chest and a small head nestled on Sherlock’s shoulder. He tried to ignore how William called him _Daddy_ and how _right_ it sounded. Although Mycroft expected to perform the paternity test, Sherlock didn't really care anymore about the result. To him William _was_ his boy. He _was_ his son. And it had nothing to do with genes and biology. He hugged the boy closer and nuzzled his hair. William’s breathing was steady and calm, the boy must have dozed off after his sobs had finally run dry.

Although he didn’t care about the results of the paternity test, Sherlock could not help thinking back to that night over six years ago. That one and only possibility, the one and only chance for this unexpected outcome…

xxx

He was high and detached from everything, almost on the cusp of finding another hit and playing it dangerously close to an overdose. He was _so_ bored, sitting in that over-crowded bar, unsure what he was even doing there in the first place. University had turned out to be a joke, even if he did manage to get the degree; the occasional insight into crime scenes, the ones he managed to crash, was not enough to keep his mind occupied; and his family was driving him insane. What was the point of living any longer?

And then he saw _her_. There was nothing special about her. And yet… A kindred spirit - if one can call another person in a clear state of depression as such. She was sitting alone and something made him go and talk to her. He didn't remember much more than that; had a vague idea of her looks, if he had to be honest. Just something punk or gothic or other of the sort. Then there were drinks after drinks and her morbid wit and a soft, tingling laugh and somehow everything got brighter. He recalled a searing kiss, a stumble, then touches and smells and a throaty laugh.

And the deep feeling of _rightness_.

And with it - a new resolve to live.

The next day he was on his way to Mycroft’s and then to rehab.

xxx

Sherlock never told anyone when and how he had lost his virginity, but he had always wanted to find the girl that changed his life so much. He never managed, despite trying for quite a while after his stint in rehab had ended. Could it really have been Molly? He kept her at arm’s length all those recent years, because of the vague memory of his punk girl, but if his punk girl _was_ Molly… Well, it would explain a lot of things, the inexplicable, and unwanted at times, stirrings she created in him, their immediate ability to work together effortlessly as if they had known each other somehow, and the existence of William. Sherlock looked at the sleeping boy and nuzzled his head once more.

Molly…

The sight of her lying in that hospital bed was haunting him still. She’d always been of small stature, but her quiet resolve and determination - especially during their last moments before his undercover mission two years ago - made her so much bigger, stronger in his eyes than she really was. Something in him ached to run back to her and make sure she was well and safe and protected. He had failed. He had _failed_ her. He promised to protect her and yet she still got hurt… But how…? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then looked to his brother. Finally, he asked what he should have asked about from the start. He asked about the accident.

Mycroft sighed as he looked to the side.

“About six weeks ago,” his elder brother started, “Miss Hooper and her son were in a small park around her neighbourhood. From what Anthea told me young William ran onto a side street after a ball. Miss Hooper managed to push him out of harm, but she, herself, was hit. It wasn't a dire collision but Miss Hooper fell and struck her head onto the pavement, losing consciousness. She has not  woken up since.” He finished.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Brain damage?” He whispered.

Mycroft looked back at him. “Actually, her vitals are normal and no permanent physical damage was done.” He reported.

“But she doesn't wake up.” Sherlock said, frowning.

Mycroft shrugged. “Head injuries are unpredictable and you know it.” He said.

Sherlock pursed his lips. “What is being done to help her?”

Mycroft huffed. “The standard procedure for coma patients.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “That's not enough and you know it. I told you she's _family_.” He gave Mycroft a look.

His brother huffed. “You married her for the clearance.” He reminded him sternly.

Sherlock stiffened and looked away.

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up. “Really?” He laughed humourlessly. “That’s precious.” He sobered, giving Sherlock a pointed look. “I told you caring is not an advantage.”

Sherlock shot him a dark glare. “If you really believed that crap I wouldn't be here now. Damn, even William wouldn't be here-”

“Provided that he's your biological son.” Mycroft interrupted.

“Hard to refute the visual evidence,” Sherlock shot back, smoothing the boy’s curls with his hand. “But as I was saying, I'd have perished way before meeting Molly, be it a couple of years ago at St. Bart’s _or_ that fateful, probable night over six years ago. So don't give me that crap about not caring and start making proper arrangements around Molly's treatment.” He demanded.

Mycroft just scowled.

They arrived at Baker Street and Sherlock prepared himself to leave with William, who was still asleep in his arms. Mycroft sighed resignedly then left the car as well, and gathered William's things. Sherlock looked at him surprised. Mycroft just shot him a daring look then led them to the doorstep.

He was about to ring when Sherlock huffed behind him and told him to just enter. Mycroft scoffed but did as asked.

“Maybe I should ease your landlady into your return?” Mycroft asked suddenly as they heard a shuffle in Mrs Hudson's flat.

Sherlock just shrugged.

The door to 221A opened as Mrs. Hudson peered cautiously outside, a frying pan held up defensively in her gloved hand. She looked warily into the corridor then her eyes widened at the sight of the elder Holmes.

“Mycroft…?” she asked cautiously.

“Hello, Mrs Hudson.” He started officiously, moving toward her. “There has been a new development.”

Mrs Hudson lowered her frying pan as she focused on him. “Are you here to tell me you won't be paying Sherlock's rent anymore?” She asked sardonically.

Mycroft looked down his nose at her. “Actually you’re right, I won't be paying it anymore. Your tenant-“

It was then that Sherlock huffed behind them and moved forward. “For God’s sake!“

Mrs Hudson gasped. “No.”

Sherlock stopped and looked toward Mycroft. “Why were you stalling?”

Mycroft bristled. “I was _not_. I was trying to be sensitive.”

Sherlock snorted.

Mycroft glowered.

Mrs Hudson swayed. “Oh, Good Lord!”

The Holmes boys turned toward her and Sherlock called a warning but Mycroft reached out swiftly, steading her on her suddenly shaky legs.

Mrs Hudson waved him off. “I'm alright, I'm alright.” She was still staring at Sherlock with huge, disbelieving eyes. “But how? You- you- how _could_ you do this to us?!” She almost screeched by the end.

“Shhh.” Sherlock hushed over Mycroft’s “There has been an important undercover mission and _precious_ lives were at stake.”

Mrs. Hudson blinked. She ignored Mycroft’s statement as she looked properly at Sherlock. “Are you… are you holding a _child_?”

Sherlock looked down at the still astonishingly sleeping boy in his arms. “Um, yes, this is William. He’s- he’s Molly’s son.”

“Molly’s?” Mrs Hudson parroted with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock’s back straightened. “Molly Hooper’s.”

Mrs Hudson frowned. “And what are you doing with Molly Hooper’s son?”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “Well, he might be my son, too,” He said.

Mrs Hudson’s gawked.

Mycroft just sighed. “Looks like it’s time for some explanations. I’ll leave you to it then.” He gave his younger brother a smarmy smile.

Sherlock glowered, then all of a sudden smiled sweetly. “Don’t forget you promised William to get the cat back.”

“I did _no_ such thing.” Mycroft denied hotly.

“You’d better not break your word to a child, Mycroft Holmes.” Mrs Hudson chirped with a steely resolve.

Mycroft looked at her incredulously then rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do my best.”

Sherlock smirked as he watched his brother leave with a stiff back and a head held high.

“Well,” Mrs Hudson turned toward Sherlock after the main door closed behind Mycroft, “you better tell me what’s going on, dear.”

It was then that William woke up.

xxx

An hour and a half later, after William had got fed and cleaned and introduced to Mrs. H, Sherlock finished filling Mrs Hudson in on the last few years, while the boy played in the sitting room, some cartoon playing in the background.

“I still cannot believe what happened to Molly.” Mrs Hudson said, holding her hand to her mouth. “Poor dear.” She looked to William. “Poor dears.”

Sherlock sighed. “William will be staying here from now on.”

“Of course, dear, I’ll help you as I can, but remember, I am your landlady not your baby-sitter.” Sherlock smirked at her but she ignored him, even though her eyes were twinkling. “Do you have any things for him?”

Sherlock nodded. “Just some clothes. I’m sure Mycroft will send some of his goons with the necessities as well.” He frowned as he looked up. “I may need to rent another room from you though.”

Mrs Hudson looked at him puzzled. “Why? You have John’s old one.”

Sherlock startled at his best friend’s name. “Why would I take his room?” He shot back looking into her face. “Where would he live?”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened. “John doesn’t live here anymore, dear. He hasn’t for a long time.”

“What?”

Mrs Hudson gave him an incredulous look. “He actually has plans to marry, met a woman. A _woman_. But then again you also clearly had met one some time ago.” She looked pointedly at William.

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock interrupted her.

“You can never tell what anyone enjoys anymore.” She continued over him.

“Hudders!” Sherlock said exasperated.

She glared at him.

“Are my rooms still available?” He asked a little contrite.

She sniffed. “Yes, as a matter of fact they are. Your brother has been paying your rent.” She frowned slightly. “I should have realised something was up with him keeping your flat, come to think of it. Anyway I even cleaned them after John’s visit yesterday.”

“John’s was here?” Sherlock asked, his heartbeat accelerating.

Mrs. Hudson gave him an exasperated look. “Yes, I told you he’s getting married. He came to tell me, himself.”

“Yes, yes.” Sherlock waved his hands dismissively and looked to the door, itching to go and see his flat.

“He’s proposing today I think.” Mrs. H. added.

Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. “Great. Can you look after William for a while? I want to…” he looked up.

“Oh yes, of course, go on. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Mrs. Hudson nodded understandingly as she smoothed her apron.

Sherlock got up and went to his flat. His heart started beating faster as he climbed the stairs. He touched the wallpaper, enjoying the familiar texture. Recognizable smells surrounded him as he entered the flat. A sight for sore eyes. Everything was the same. His papers, furniture, his familiar armchair. He looked to his books on the shelves and peered into his kitchen, smiling wistfully at the unusually clean and tidy space. Not for long probably. He could almost hear John typing yet another recounting of their cases on his computer, and Mrs Hudson coming up the stairs with tea. It was as if he hadn’t been gone at all. Everything seemed the same-

“Daddy!” A wail come from the downstairs followed by Mrs Hudson’s calming, hushed tones.

Sherlock looked to the door and sighed.

 _Nothing_ was the same.

There was a commotion and he heard small footsteps running up the stairs. He turned around just as William barrelled over the threshold right into him.

“I didn’t know where you went!” William wailed as he hugged Sherlock.

“I came up to my- _our_ flat.” Sherlock said. “This is my home.” He swept his hand over the room.

William looked up to Sherlock then at the surroundings. His eyes went huge as he took everything in. “Oh! It’s big!” He called.

Sherlock smiled at him. “Come I’ll show you around.” He said and nodded at Mrs Hudson who brought up William’s things.

Sherlock got reacquainted with his flat as he introduced William to it. The child was curious about everything, wanting to touch here, and peer there, not a nook or cranny went uninspected. Had he been as an inquisitive child as his boy?

Despite the nap after the visit to the hospital, the events of the day eventually caught up with William and shortly after supper the boy fell asleep on the sofa. Sherlock sat down in his armchair and watched him sleep for a long time, thinking over all the changes to his life  now.

He had made a promise to Molly. It was only on paper and technically he was never supposed to watch over William (even if in the deepest corner of his heart he secretly hoped to be able to someday), but now he was faced with this very reality. And he would do it. There was no other option. No matter the changes and challenges this new reality would bring, he was going to take care of his- Molly’s boy… _their_ boy.

Shortly after midnight Sherlock picked up the boy who snuggled into his chest subconsciously, setting his heart into an overdrive, and took him to his bedroom. He never was for sharing a room, but he was loathe to leave William out of his sight. The boy snuggled next to Sherlock as they lay in the king-sized bed and together the two males fell into peaceful sleep.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All reviews are appreciated! :)


	5. The Fallout - Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm glad you enjoy the story. Here is next part, the last installment of the Fallout. 
> 
> As always, huge thank you to my wonderful beta, 3seconds. :)

**Chapter Five – Fallout – Part Three**

xxx

John took Mary’s hand as they left the underground station near Marylebone, then led them to his previous residence. He couldn’t stop the smile coming to his face. Mary had said _yes_ ! She said yes! She was going to be his wie! His _wife_! It was the happiest moment of his life. Of course, he would be even happier if his best friend was alive, but he would always be grateful for Mary, she had _saved_ him. He loved her; and she must love him, too. He smiled at her and his heart skipped a beat as she smiled back.

They took the turn and entered Baker Street.

“Is this where you lived before?” Mary asked as she looked around the neighbourhood.

“Yes.” John nodded. “Just over there.” He pointed.

They walked past Speedy’s Café and John led to the familiar black door. He knocked on the oddly straight door knocker. It took a moment for Mrs Hudson to open the door.

“John!” She said breathless.

John gave her a brilliant smile. She smiled back weakly. It was midday, around lunchtime and Mrs Hudson looked to be in the midst of cooking.

“Um, are we interrupting you?” He asked, with a charming smile.

She looked back toward the house then smiled. “Of course not, please come in.” Then she noticed Mary. “Oh, and who could that be?” She asked looking from one person to the other with a growing, hopeful smile.

John beamed. “This is Mary, my fiancée.” He said proudly.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Mrs Hudson exclaimed. “Congratulations! Come, come you must have a celebratory drink with me.” She said with another smile and started to herd them quickly into her flat.

Then, as they were right in the middle of the corridor, a commotion started in the flat above them.

They all looked up at the unexpected crash, then John looked to Mrs Hudson questioningly. She looked resigned, as she brought a hand to her cheek. “Oh, dear.”

Footsteps were heard above them and then the _oddest_ sight John had ever seen in this house appeared on the stairs.

First, a tabby cat ran down from the flat above, then a small boy quickly  followed it, yelling. “Toby! You can’t go down to Mrs Hudson!”

The cat, of course, ignored the boy, but the boy stopped in the middle of the stairs at the unexpected sight of all the unknown people in front of him.

“William! You aren’t supposed to run down the stairs! Especially after that blasted cat.” A familiar, oddly, _impossibly_ familiar, baritone resonated around the hall then a tall _apparition_ \- it could not be anything else! - appeared on the top of the stairs. The new figure froze.

“Oh, dear.” Mrs Hudson repeated from the side.

John felt a cold wave go through his whole being. His ears started ringing as he stared at the- the-

“John. John! You’re hurting me!” He heard Mary tell him as she tried to peel his tight grip from her hand.

He released her then shot a venomous glare up the stairs. “You’re dead.” He said in a grave, accusing whisper. “You’re fucking dead!” He yelled.

The boy jumped at the noise and ran up the stairs to- to-, and then _hid_ behind his- his-

“Hello, John.” The unmistakable voice sounded once more, the owner gazed down at him grimly.

John’s heart clenched and he exhaled slowly, deliberately. He narrowed his eyes. “You’d better start explaining what the fuck you were up to and why-“

“You aren’t supposed to use the F-word, sir.” The child peeked from behind the tall man’s leg and stared at John with a- a- a fucking _familiar_ glare!

“William.” A hand landed on the child’s head.

The boy looked up, his face set with a determined chin. “Mummy says it’s a bad word, the F-word. You should never use the bad word, Daddy.”

John’s world view shifted once more.

Sherlock Holmes was alive and well.

And apparently …a parent?

xxx

Sherlock hadn’t expected to see John so soon and without any warning. The older man looked good, apart from that horrendous moustache on his face. Oh, no, that thing had to go. He cannot be seen with an _old man_. He really hoped he wasn’t keeping it. He was about to point it out, when John glared at him once more. By the look on his best friend’s face he could tell he was in for a long loud yelling at and maybe even a solid punch to the face. He expected nothing less.

“Daddy?”

Sherlock looked down to William who, despite the questions on his face, was watching him with an open trust. His heart squeezed, but he couldn’t help the reassuring smile.

“Go with Mrs. Hudson, ok? I need to talk with John.” He told him calmly.

William looked back to John uncertainty then back to Sherlock, assessing him in a familiar way.

“It’s going to be alright. Just play with Toby at Mrs. Hudson’s for a while.” Sherlock said once more.

William was still unsure, as he looked to John and all the people around them.

“I’m not going anywhere and I’m not leaving without telling you.” Sherlock said and William looked back to him. “I’ll be just upstairs.”

The boy nodded reluctantly.

“Hi, I’m Mary.” All of a sudden, the woman next to John leaned toward William with a smile on her face. “I saw a cat here, is it yours?”

The boy looked her up and down, then nodded.

“I like cats, can you show him to me and tell me about him?” She asked. “We can do it in Mrs. Hudson’s flat?”

Sherlock looked her up and down and all the usual deductions floated around her person. … _only child… …linguist… …clever… …part time nurse… …short-sighted… …guardian… …bakes own bread… …disillusioned… …cat lover… …romantic… …appendix scar… …Lib Dem… …secret tattoo… …size 12… …liar…_

She looked back to him questioningly but with an open, warm smile and after a second Sherlock nodded. He turned toward William and smiled. “Go on.”

William went down slowly then took Mrs. Hudson’s hand. Mary gave John assuring squeeze on his arm then followed Mrs. Hudson and William into 221A.

Time stretched out as John and Sherlock stared at each other, then finally Sherlock motioned John to the upper flat.

The tension was so high you could cut it with a knife as they entered the familiar parlour.

“So,” John started, looking a Sherlock with narrowed eyes. “Not dead.”

“As you can see.” Sherlock replied, moving his hands behind his back and subconsciously straightening his posture.

John inhaled sharply. “Why… why did you do it?”

Sherlock sighed. “Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped.” He halted as he saw John’s expression. “Oh, that _why_ …” He sighed. “That’s a little more difficult to explain.”

John looked at him darkly. “I’ve got all day.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.”

John’s nostrils flared. “Oh, so it’s your brother’s plan?” He mocked.

Sherlock shrugged. “It was an long term MI-5 operation.”

John’s exhaled angrily. “So he was the only one? The only one who knew then?”

Sherlock looked to the side. “Um, no, there were a couple of others.”

John lowered his head to his chest, trying to control his breathing.

Sherlock started talking quickly. “It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. There were thirteen possibilities once I was on the roof-“

“I don’t care about the how!” John yelled. He’s nostrils flared once more as he glared at Sherlock. “Who else? Who else _knew?_ ”

Sherlock hesitated, Molly’s motionless form in the hospital bed flashed in his Mind Palace.

“Who?” John repeated intensely.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. “Molly.” He said softly.

“Molly?” John repeated angrily.

It was Sherlock’s turn to glare back. “Yes, Molly Hooper. Her help was irreplaceable. She made it all possible.” He turned his back to John as he inhaled sharply.

There was a pause.

“Who is that boy?” John asked suddenly, his voice different.

Sherlock looked back and John was searching his face.

Sherlock looked away then sighed. “He’s Molly’s son.” He paused. “And probably mine.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Probably_ yours?”

“We’re waiting for the paternity test, but everything fits and, well, the resemblance is uncanny.” Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t care but Mycroft insisted, came this morning to take the samples and brought the cat with him. Became quite the hero in William’s eyes, but I suspect Anthea had Toby all this time.”

John blinked, shaking his head disbelievingly. “I’m sorry, you don’t care?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I made Molly a promise when she agreed to help me. I will fulfil it no matter the result of the paternity test.”

“A promise?” John asked, shaking his head in confusion.

Sherlock looked at him. “To become her child’s guardian.”

John frowned once more. “Hers? You didn’t know it was yours?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I hadn’t laid eyes on William up until I came back. Actually, the guardianship came up only because it was an issue with getting our marriage license.”

“Marriage licence!” John spluttered. “You- you’re married?! To _Molly Hooper_?! Married?!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It was for the MI-5 operation. She needed the government clearance to be involved in it and that was the quickest way.”

John shook his head, incredulously. “This is too much. You turn out to be alive. And on top of that a probable parent and _married_ to Molly Hooper of all people… and speaking of Molly, where _is_ she?” He frowned.

Sherlock looked at him surprised. “You don’t know?”

John blinked. “What?”

“I see.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.

John looked down shamefully.

Sherlock exhaled. “Molly had an accident, she’s in a coma.”

“Oh.” John paled. “Damn…”

“That’s why William is staying with me.” Sherlock continued in a firm tone, straightening his back. “I’m his legal guardian. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

John looked to the side, looking ashamed. “I… I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t keep in touch with anyone.” Sherlock said, but his voice lacked the harsh accusation.

“No…” John paused. “It was a little too much.” He looked up at Sherlock. “I am still mad at you. It won’t go away just like that. But…” He sighed. “I am willing to help you. Me and Mary, that’s my fiancée-“

“So I have heard.” Sherlock smiled at him.

John shot him a proud smile of his own. “We’ll help you.”

Sherlock searched John’s eyes and nodded, looking down. “Thank you.” He looked up and smiled mischievously. “Actually, London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help.”

“My help?” John asked a familiar glint of excitement in his eyes.

Sherlock smile widened. “You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world...”

John’s rolled his eyes. He turned around toward to the stairs. “I’ll be in touch.” He called over his shoulder and went down.

Sherlock just smiled knowingly.

xxx

As John took his time to process all the new information, Sherlock decided to solve a couple of simple cases in the meanwhile. He entertained the clients at Baker Street, sometimes with William present and sometimes alone.

They had spent one day of solving a few crimes together outside of the flat. It started first with visiting a fake Jack the Ripper scene with Lestrade.

“Blimey, what are you doing with a child?!” Lestrade spluttered as he gawked at the small child happily marching alongside Sherlock.

“This is William. He’s Molly’s. _And_ mine.” Sherlock replied.

“You jest.” Lestrade shook his head. “What…?”

Sherlock ignored him as they proceeded to the crime scene. William loved the skeleton, saying Mummy showed him one in the past. Lestrade stared at the boy, shocked, until he burst out laughing. “Ok, I believe you, mate, he could only be yours and Molly’s.”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t really hide the small proud smile on his face.

Later they visited Howard Shilcott’s den with his trains. It was a dream come true for William and Sherlock watched with rapt attention the boy’s joy as he looked around the flat. Then they went for chips and the evening would have been a happy, peaceful one if not for a sudden appearance of a frantic Mary. Sherlock barely managed to yell for Mrs. Hudson and firmly ordered William to stay inside with her before he and Mary raced to save John.

Afterwards, as he ensured John was fine and in capable hands, Sherlock shocked himself with his visceral need to see his boy. He practically _raced_ the last few hundred yards to Baker Street and, as William ran up to him from Mrs. H.’s flat clad in his pyjamas, Sherlock fell to his knees and hugged the boy tightly. John had been saved and a new puzzle had just appeared before him, but all Sherlock could think of was what if it had been _William_ inside the bonfire. _What if it_ had _been William_?

He squeezed the boy tightly as William slept snuggled to his side, vowing he’ll always protect his boy. _Always._

The next day John called to let Sherlock know he’ll be by around afternoon to tackle the new case and Sherlock was waiting for him to arrive. William went to visit Mrs. Hudson for a while, and Sherlock took the opportunity to play his violin, thinking over all the clues from Mycroft’s underground case. ItIwas then, when he heard familiar and not so wanted steps on the stairs. He scowled as the two people entered his flat.

“Oh for God’s sake!” He turned toward them, his violin lowered to his side. “What are you two doing here?!”

“We haven’t seen you for the past two years, young man!” The elderly woman started with a huff, her blue eyes fierce as she took Sherlock in. “We want to catch up with you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Now’s not a good time.” He said turning around.

“Oh, and when it will be?” His mother shot back. “You never ring nor visit, if we don’t come here we would never see you! I-“

Soft footsteps ran up the stairs and Sherlock closed his eyes resignedly.

“Daddy!” William burst into the flat, excitedly.

Sherlock’s parents gasped as they turned around to gape at the small version of their son that ran past them to Sherlock.

“Mr. Mycroft is here!” He said.

Sure enough, Mycroft followed behind with his ever present brolly. He was also holding a standard yellow file.

“Sherlock?!” His mother said in a strangled voice as she stared openly at the small boy next to her son. “What- What is the meaning of this?!”

“Oh, hello.” William said, finally noticing the new people around him, then he moved closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Mother, Father, this is William, my son, no matter what Mycroft’s file says.” He shot his elder sibling a pointed look.

“Y-your son?” His father choked, but his mother exploded. “No matter what the file says?! You means his not- you are _unsure_?!”

Sherlock glowered at them as he felt William move even closer toward him, almost glued to his leg. “It’s a little unusual but I’m sure nothing as outlandish as what you have seen in all the soap operas you like to watch.”

Mrs. Holmes spluttered.

“Well, this is a pleasant gathering.” Mycroft mocked. “Just in time to learn some shocking news.”

Mrs. Holmes turned to her eldest son. “Don’t you start, young man, you knew about this!” She shot him a glare.

Mycroft straightened as he met her stare for stare. “I assure you it is a new development, we didn’t realise it until Sherlock’s return.”

Mrs. Holmes glowered. “And the boy’s mother?” She looked from one son to the other.

“She is currently in a coma,” Sherlock said. “She’d better be treated accordingly as our family member,” he said this pointedly to Mycroft who just rolled his eyes, “as she is also my wife.”

“Your wife!” His father exclaimed.

His mother glowered. “You _married_ and didn’t _tell_ us anything?! How could you!”

Sherlock glowered back. “I _married_ her because it was _necessary.”_

“Ha!” Mycroft scoffed amused.

Sherlock shot him a glare, then turned toward his parents. “It was needed for the undercover mission I was on abroad for the _last two years._ She needed the clearance and it was the fastest way to get her one.” He finished in an end of discussion tone.

“And the boy?” His mother assessed him.

Sherlock straightened. “As Mycroft said, I didn’t know about him until Molly and I discussed the clearance and even then it was never said he is mine. I didn’t meet him until I returned.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So she kept it from you?”

Sherlock bristled and glowered at her, his voice ran dangerously low. “I don’t know for sure and as you were just informed I am unable to discuss it with her now. There was no reason for her to do so.”

“Well, you were high at the time maybe she didn’t want to.” Mycroft derided with a smarmy smile.

Sherlock shot him a venomous glare. “She probably hadn’t known it herself. She was as much under influence back then as I was. And it’s not your business. I will not discuss the matter further as it doesn’t change the fact William is my son no matter what the file says.”

“And what does the file say?” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed.

“Why don’t we let Sherlock check it out.” Mycroft said, throwing the file at his younger brother.

“D-daddy?” William asked unexpectedly, his voice trembling.

Everyone looked to the teary eyed boy.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked alarmed. William’s lips wobbled, then the boy sniffled and Sherlock barely managed to crouch just in time to catch his suddenly wailing son in his arms.

“Oh no!” Mrs Holmes gasped. She started to move toward them but Sherlock shot her a venomous glare over the boy’s shoulder. He smoothed his son’s hair and hushed him as the other adults watched with various looks of disbelief and amazement.

“Hey,” Sherlock said after William’s sobs turned into hiccups. “Mycroft brought the file with the result of the test. The one we took samples for a couple of days ago.”

William nodded against his shoulder.

“Do you want to see what it says?” He asked as he tried to peer into his son’s face.

William looked up into his eyes and nodded once more.

“Ok.” Sherlock opened the file and read. There was quite a tense pause as everyone in the room waited for Sherlock to speak.

“So what does it say?” William asked finally as he looked into the file as well.

“That you are my real son and I am your real daddy.” Sherlock said then looked up the William with a smile.

William beamed as he threw his arms around Sherlock. “Of _course_ you are my Daddy, you are my Mummy’s husband and a husband is a daddy, so you are _my_ Daddy.”

Sherlock laughed as he hugged William back. Mrs Holmes squeaked and Mr. Holmes put his arm around her as they watched.

“Um, hello.”

Everyone turned toward the doorway, where John Watson stopped uncertainly.

“Um, am I interrupting?” he asked looking to everyone inside.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but Sherlock got up and took William’s hand. He looked to his parents, locking his eyes with his mother's. Mrs. Holmes assessed her younger son, then nodded at him and he stared at her for a second then nodded back.

“William, John,” he shot his best friend a teasing smile, “these… these are my parents.” He turned toward William. “And so they are also your grandparents.” He frowned. “And that would unfortunately mean that Mycroft is your Uncle.”

Mycroft actually bristled at that. “I’m going to be the _best_ uncle there is.” He sniffed.

John barked a laugh. “Oh, you’ll have a fierce competition in me as I plan to get the best uncle title for myself!”

Mycroft glowered at him and Sherlock smirked.

William looked at the people around him. “I never had an uncle and grandparents.”

“And we never had a grandson, but we are happy to have you.” Mr. Holmes said as he leaned toward William.

The boy beamed at them all then turned toward Sherlock with a wide happy smile and Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

He had always known that things wouldn’t be the same after his return. Time passed, things changed, people had moved on. He hoped for some of the changes to include him …and William …and …and-

He looked around the room as John and Mrs Hudson, who came up behind him, started to prepare tea and biscuits for everyone; as his parents sat on the sofa and started asking William some questions; as Mycroft scowled but made himself comfortable in John’s old chair.

And he desperately tried to ignore the gaping hole in his heart, left by the one person missing from this otherwise happy gathering…

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All reviews are appreciated!


	6. Of Dreams and Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm sorry for the delay. I wrote this chapter and it was what I wanted, yet... I was completely unsatisfied with it... I'm still unsure about it. And then RL happened... 
> 
> As always, huge thank you to my wonderful beta, **3seconds**. She did the initial beta work, but I've been tweaking this chapter for the past two weeks over and over, there was some rewriting and editing as well. All the mistakes are on me. 
> 
> I hope you like it anyway. The last part will be posted at the weekend (hopefully).

**Chapter Six – Of Dreams and Expectations**

**xxx**

Time went by inexorably and over a month had passed since Sherlock took William from the institute.

Their new arrangement had gone swiftly and surprisingly without any major problems so far. John’s bedroom had been ready for William to take as his own within the first couple of days but even now, the boy still slept more often in the king-sized bed in the downstairs bedroom than in his own. Not that Sherlock complained.

Their daily routine fell into place relatively fast. After waking up and breakfast (although Sherlock had not eaten on such a regular basis since his childhood, he realised how vital it was for a small, still growing boy; especially with Mrs. H. and his mother nagging him into proper child’s care), came school for William while Sherlock pursued his cases. They had started to flow in steadily once he returned, the reason behind his disappearance and his renewed status as an active, real detective had been revealed and established by solving Mycroft’s underground terrorist group case.

The evenings usually consisted of quiet quality times, playing educational games or visits from Sherlock's friends and family.

William embraced the changes to his life with a true child’s adaptability. All he needed was the people who cared for him and loved him. And he didn’t lack in those.

Greg Lestrade often visited with tales of shows and outdoor activities that William seemed to enjoy. John and Mary weren’t absent either, what with Mary bringing them home-baked bread regularly and playing with William and Toby as John and Sherlock bickered over cases in their usual squabbling manor, often making the other two occupants giggle at the their antics.

Sherlock’s parents also became regular visitors, to Sherlock’s dismay. Only William’s bright smile and the new, but oddly _familiar_ twinkling in Sherlock’s Mum’s eyes stopped him from complaining too much. Even Mycroft tried his best, which often ended up with odd deliveries of children’s toys, useful and not-so-useful things, and educational tools. William embraced it all with a child’s innocence and exuberance, being his happy easy-going self.

That’s why his unusually quiet behaviour this Saturday morning had really worried Sherlock.

He observed William from the kitchen as the boy drew in his colouring book. He was unexpectedly quiet and solemn and Sherlock tried to think of a way to approach his son. He took the juice and biscuits that Mrs. H. had brought in, then added a tea for himself and headed toward the sitting room.

William didn’t look up, just kept on colouring.

Sherlock sat down on the sofa opposite him and sipped his tea, still observing the small boy.

“Do you think Father Christmas will come to me this year, Daddy?” William asked suddenly, his head still lowered over the colouring book, his hand moving rhythmically up and down as he drew.

Sherlock blinked. He hadn’t thought about Christmas yet, but he should probably start to, and soon, especially with William now in his life.

He focused on his son. “Why shouldn’t he?” He replied, while his mind whirled. It was already the first week of December. There wasn’t much time left...

“Mummy said that Father Christmas comes to good boys.” William continued, still colouring methodically. “To those who were good the whole year.” He grew quiet.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “You were a good boy, were you not?” He asked slowly.

William shrugged, and hunched slightly. “I… I got Mummy hurt.” He whispered in a teary voice.

Sherlock straightened, shocked. “William.” He said, putting his tea aside.

William stopped colouring, but his head was lowered.

“Look at me.” Sherlock said firmly.

Reluctantly, William looked up, his eyes were wet.

Sherlock’s heart squeezed, but he stared fiercely into his son’s eyes. “You did not hurt your Mother.” He said firmly.

William’s lips trembled. “B-but I ran after the ball onto the street. Mummy- Mummy told me to never run onto the street. And- and- and then Mummy got hurt!” He sobbed. “It’s my fault! It’s my fault!”

Sherlock rushed and fell on his knees at William’s side. “William, it’s not your fault. It’s not. It was an accident.” He put his arms around the boy and let him clung to him. He listened to the gut wrenching sobs, helpless, his own eyes getting prickly as well.

Time passed and William finally, slowly, calmed down.

“Mummy said Christmas is a time for miracles.” William mumbled into Sherlock’s drenched shirt. “For wishes to come true. Do you… do you think I can wish for… for Mummy to wake up?” He looked up and stared into Sherlock’s face. “Can we send letters to Father Christmas up the chimney? Like we did with Mummy last year? She asked for you to return home and you did.”

Sherlock’s heart twisted. _Oh, Molly…_

Part of him wanted to spout all the reasons why such a belief was irrational and it was better to stop thinking in those terms, but then he saw William’s big dark eyes, so much like his mother's. They were full of innocent trust and hope while they implored him to answer.

“We- we can try.” Sherlock said over the sudden choking in his throat. “I… I’m not sure if it will help, but we can try.”

William looked down. “Mummy never lied, you know, Daddy? She never did. She said if she was gone you’d come and you did. So if she said Christmas is time for miracles then it must be.” He nodded resolutely. “I want her to wake up and come to us, Daddy.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “I… I want that, too,” he admitted softly.

“Then I’m going to ask for it.” William said decisively. Sherlock's eyes opened and he looked at his son. “I’m going to wish for her to wake up.” The boy repeated as he looked into Sherlock’s face, Molly’s determination - the same she had showed that fateful night before his jump of the St. Bart’s Hospital roof - shining in his eyes. “And she will.” He nodded for emphasis.

He scrambled from Sherlock’s lap and rushed for his crayons and paper, bringing them over. “Let’s write them now, Daddy!” He said with a smile.

Sherlock could only nod back, while his thoughts whirled in his head with all the possible ideas of ways to make this dream – for them both – come true.

xxx

Hazy rays of sunshine beam through the crotched curtain as it dances lazily on the light morning breeze coming through the open window. Sweet, flowery smells fill the room while sounds of chirping birds and buzzing bees echo from the outside. A dog barks somewhere and a splash of water follows as it plays outdoor.

Inside, the big bright kitchen smells wonderfully of the freshly baked cookies, just ready to be taken out of the oven.

Child's toys and crayons lay haphazardly on the big kitchen table, barely leaving any place for the upcoming plate of the freshly baked goods; not abandoned, just left behind for a short while.

There is the occasional beaker and a professional microscope set to the side on the worktop. Some lab samples and other bits and odds are spread around the room.

Experiments.

She turns toward the oven, thick oven mittens on her hands, as she readies to take the baked goods out.

A child's laughter echoes from somewhere in the house.

A male chuckle follows.

She smiles and turns around in that direction.

Her heart flutters.

…

The living room is full of oddities and eccentricities, some hers left from her parents, and some that are not hers but _familiar_. The skull painting, the bison skull, the knife stuck into the mantel. Everything, hers and _theirs_ , blending together so wonderfully. There are also children's books mixed amongst the chemistry ones and true crime stories sitting next to her pathology collection on the shelves.

With a smile ghosting on her face, she picks up her favourite romance novel and turns toward the armchairs.

Her cosy yellow one is sitting next to the familiar leather black one. Toby, as usual, is on top of the latter, sleeping peacefully.

Familiar footsteps echo somewhere in the house.

She smiles involuntarily. There is going to be the usual squabble over the seat on the black armchair. She’s sure of it.

…

She looks through the window to the beautiful garden. Although lovingly kept, it is slightly overgrown, a little wild. _Perfect_. She smiles at the sight of the chaotic scenery. The swing moves slightly, even though there is no one to push it. An echo of child’s giggle passes through her mind at the sight, making her smile.

Behind, in the furthest corner of the garden, near the sparkly spring, there stand the beehives. Well loved, regularly tended, their happy buzzing a comforting sound.

She smiles even wider as she turns to get the garden tools.

Opposite the beehives are her flower and vegetables garden. Maybe there will be some nice flowers to put on the kitchen table.

…

She passes the bedrooms on her way to the bathroom. One door is widely open, a child’s toys are spread all over the floor, but the bed is neatly made. She goes inside and picks up the occasional clothes left behind, a sock here, a shirt there. She sees the photograph on the nightstand and smiles. Three smiling faces beams at her, a happy, joyous moment caught on the camera.

She moves to the next room. The king-sized bed is as neatly made as the child’s twin one had been. Her vanity desk is piled with her cosmetics and make-up things, amongst them quite a number of hair products, and _not_ everything hers.

She smiles involuntarily as she looks around the floor and in a familiar pattern finds more, this time bigger, socks and shirts lying around. She shakes her head at the unmistakable similarity as she picks them up, the soft smile ghosting on her mouth anyway.

…

She is folding the laundry in the bathroom.

The familiar, colourful, small clothes, especially the blue jumper with cartoon figures, and grey jeans, makes her smile. She segregates them patiently into neatly stacked piles then turns to the adult clothes. Tattered T-shirts and pyjamas pants goes into correct piles. Her work jumpers, cheery and loud to lift her mood on the most weary day are mixed with her lounge pants and more formal dresses.

Then the familiar aubergine shirt comes into her hands.

_Oh, no, that one should have not gone into their regular laundry. Definitely to the local dry cleaning. Oh well, looks like she will have to use it as her nightshirt from now on._

She giggles girlishly.

…

She loves the place. Her home.

And her family.

She does.

Such a peaceful, happy place…

xxx

That same afternoon after they had sent the letters to Father Christmas, Sherlock found himself standing outside Molly’s hospital room, while William was visiting with Mrs. Hudson under the impression that his Daddy needed to solve a case or something.

Sherlock had been coming to visit Molly regularly but hardly ever alone. William liked telling Molly about his day and his adventures and even Sherlock grew to share all the details from his cases with her, often complaining about the morons that were her replacement at Bart's. The more he talked, the more he revealed about himself, telling her about things he wouldn't normally share with anyone. And yet, with her, it didn't surprise him. Molly had always been a good listener, often helping him with her quiet insights during their mutual experimenting at the St. Bart’s lab before the Fall. He _missed_ her dearly.

So here he was now. Alone. In front of her room; and surprisingly unsure of himself. The echo of that conversation with William, the one from their very first visit here over month ago, was playing over and over in his mind.

Should he do it? Should he _kiss_ her? It _didn't_ make sense, it was just a fairytale and yet… and yet...

William's determination and resolution flashed in his mind.

He took a deep breath and entered Molly's room, halting for a second. The sight of her lying so motionless always squeezed something inside his chest. He took the few steps to her bedside and looked down at her, taking in all of her, noting all the changes that took place. Her shining hair was washed this morning and brushed out of its tangles; braided neatly to the side. Her cheeks were as pale as always, though; yet so porcelain looking; exquisite and- and frail. Dark lashes rested gently on them, hiding her shining, warm eyes. His gaze roamed over her familiar features, memorising all the details.

Finally, he sat down on the visitor chair.

Tentatively he took her hand in his, it was so small and delicate. And yet he knew how strong and precise, _dexterous_ it was, as well. Such a beautiful contradiction. Just like his Molly.

He sighed.

“Molly…”

He played with her fingers, trying to gather his thoughts. “Christmas… Christmas is coming. You… you’ve always enjoyed Christmas, haven’t you? And William…” He looked up to her face. Motionless, pale, so so _dear_. “He likes it, too. He believes in it. Because of you. _Thanks to_ you. I…” He trailed off and stared at her for a second or two.

 _If William could believe, so can he._ He nodded resolutely.

He got up and leaned toward her, caressing her features with his gaze. He put his hand to her soft cheek and slowly, gently, he lowered his head, his lips touching hers in a delicate kiss. He sighed. Long lost memory flashing in his mind, connecting the disjointed puzzles into one truth.

His punk girl.

His pathologist.

His Molly.

“Molly,” he whispered on a breath, eyes still closed.  

Finally, he opened them and focused on her closed eyelids.

“Molly,” he started in a firm whisper. “It’s time to wake up. You hear? You need to wake up.” He took a deep breath, looking to the side. “We…” once more he focused on her face. “ _William_ needs you. I… _I_ need you.” He admitted quietly, choked a little. “Please.” He whispered, his hand grazing her soft cheek, soothingly. “Molly…” he choked. “Molly, _please_!”

But there was no reaction.

xxx

She walks around the house, trying to find something to occupy herself. The kitchen is clean. The laundry is done. The bedrooms are tidied up. All the books in the living room have been read. The experiments in the kitchen completed and the garden and beehives tended to.

She looks at the signs of the other occupants of the house. She knows them, she feels them. The small one and the big one. They are there. Almost. At the grasp of her hand, at the corner of her eye. Just right there...

...she frowns. They _are_ there… she knows. But then why…. why does she never  _see_ them?

 _…Molly..._ echoes around her, as a whisper or a caress, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, and she looks up; from side to side; to the doorway and the windows...

Nothing.

But…

_…Wake up..._

“I am awake!” She answers back turning around, looking for the source.

 _…We_...

She looks down to her hand. There is warmness around it. As if it’s surrounded by something… as if... a hand…? but…?

“What…?” she whispers looking around once more.

_…William…_

She blinks. Will...iam…? She shakes her head. …the small one… William…?

She inhales sharply. “William!” She demands looking for the source of the echoes. “What about William?!”

_…needs you…_

“I'm here!” She yells back, turning around frantically. “Where is William?! Tell me what to do! William!”

_…I… I need you…_

She startles. _…_ the big one _…_ “Sher… Sherlock…?” She whispers.

_…Please…_

The anguish in his voice kills her inside. “I-I don't know what to do… Sherlock? Sherlock! Where are you?!”

_…Molly…_

There is warmness on her cheek. A soft caress. She startles again, unsettled.

Something wet drops on her cheek. It's- it’s not possible…

_…Molly, please!…_

“No.” She covers her ears, tears falling from her eyes. “No. No!”

She falls to her knees and right with her, the world collapses.

xxx

Sherlock left Molly’s hospital room, feeling dejected. And angry at himself. He knew. He _knew_ there was no rational reason for him to take this measure. What was he _thinking_? It was all William's fault. His notion of fairytales and his belief in happy endings. There were no such things as happy endings in real life! He frowned at himself. It was high time his son started to learn that harsh life lesson, himself! He’d-

A sudden commotion started at the nurses station. Alarms and machine's beeps could be heard coming from a patient’s room and the nurses hurried around the counter, almost running there. Sherlock moved to the side automatically, making room for them to pass him by and his eyes travelled their path automatically.

He froze.

They were going to Molly's room.

He stood there in the corridor, stupefied. They were running to Molly's room. And they didn't look calm and happy. Not at all. The angry alarms and beeping didn't help either...

There was a call for the lead doctor.

“Molly…” he choked.

And another for the defibrillator…

The commotion continued as Sherlock stared unseeingly.

“No…” He gasped. “Please, God, no…”

“ _Clear!"_ Someone shouted from the room and a jolt was heard.

“Oh, God…” He curled onto himself as the most basic truth became so obvious in his mind. “I… love her. I _love_ her…”

And it- it might be _too late_.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All reviews are appreciated!  
> Do you believe in happy endings?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Reviews always make my day :)


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